Page 117 of As a Last Resort
I nodded.“Right, yeah, exactly.”
Ivy went ahead as I packed up to head into the office for the next twenty-four hours.I walked out the front door of my apartment building into the flow of people.Heads were down, paces were quick.I caught a lady’s eye and smiled.She grunted and stepped to the side.She was probably just late to get somewhere important.
Thunder cracked above and a tiny droplet of rain landed on my arm.But it was fine because I loved the city when it was wet and shiny.It’s like it washed away the moments of yesterday and made a way for something new and bright.This wasnotthe predictable movie moment where the heroine walks through a rainstorm without an umbrella, the downpour indicative of her waterfall of sad emotions.
It started to really come down, so I scooted into an alcove of an apartment building and my foot squished into something.
Please don’t be poop.Please don’t be poop.
I looked down and my shoe was cradled by an old hoagie sandwich, puffy and slimy from the rain.I leaned against the concrete wall and looked out.People scurried under umbrellas and jackets.The sky was gray and bleak.Black clouds moved around ominously looking for a target to dump on.
Austin’s face was everywhere I looked, burned into my mind like when I looked at the sun too long as a kid.But I didn’t have time for that right now.He was just a distraction.A tan, salt water–scented distraction that wrapped around me like well-worn cotton.
For a second, I tried to picture it.I looked out into the flow of people and imagined him walking by, with his worn-in jeans, flip-flops, faded high school T-shirt, and backward baseball cap.Everyone knows you can’t wear flip-flops in the city.I tried to picture him in Central Park drinking a green smoothie.He’d make fun of me for it and said it tasted like grass, which it did.I’d take him to the Hudson and look out over the water.He’d ask about fishing and I’d tell him people were allowed, but there were rules.It was catch-and-release only.
I couldn’t see him in a cubicle at some nine-to-five job, wearing closed-toed shoes and a button-down that itched his neck.I could see him pulling at its collar already.
He’d miss the sand.The salt water.
He’d miss sitting outside his parents’ house in homemade Adirondack chairs.
He’d miss Florida sunsets and Sunday night dinners.
He’d have to give up everything.
It couldn’t work.There was no way I’d go back and he didn’t fit here.
35
AUSTIN
Black clouds were never a good sign.
We had a full day of ferry runs across the water and the fact the sky looked how my insides felt seemed a little too on the nose for me.
“I’ll grab the top deck panels.”Patrick hopped up the stairs and started rolling down the plastic sheets that would hopefully keep some of the rain from accosting our guests.He must have picked up on my vibes from the moment I stepped onto the dock this morning because he had yet to drill me with questions about how I was doing.
Even though I hadn’t slept a wink the last couple days, I was grateful for a full day of work ahead of me.Anything to try and distract me from the vision of Sam’s face was a welcomed diversion.
The wind started howling the moment we latched the last panel down.As we escorted guests from the building on the mainland onto the boat, the rain picked up.
“Welcome aboard, everyone!”Patrick laid on his Jamaican accent.“You know what they say when it rains on your wedding day?Same thing applies to vacation.You’re guaranteed a beautiful trip from here on out.But for now, please keep your butts in your seats and hang on.It’s going to be a bit of a bumpy ride today.”
My phonedinged on the way out of the mainland marina.My palm was slick with rain as I took it out of my pocket, trying toquell the hope of it being Sam’s name on the screen.It was a text from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN:We’ve got a deal.
My guy’s going to captain it down for you this week.
It was the owner of the north Florida charter who was looking to dump his passenger ferry.After finding out the new resort development’s plans for their monster ferry to the island, I wasn’t in the position of offering what the boat was actually worth.I had maybe two years max making money with Scuttle’s Ferry before I was forced out of business.I lowballed thinking there was no way he’d take my measly offer, but he did.I’d give her a once-over for maintenance, do a few cosmetic repairs, and have her shuttling people by the end of next week.I’d already done all the numbers and scheduled out the new routes.While we’d run six days a week still, we could cut down on trips across and almost double our capacity and revenue.
But we still wouldn’t be anywhere near five hundred passengers a run.
All of Sam’s star-chasing comments about fishing rattled around in my brain.Yes, that was the ideal situation but timing was important.My current business was important.My crew depended on me to put food on their table.It wasn’t in the cards to give that all up and go follow a shooting star.At least, not today.
Lightning lit up the sky.A few of the guests looked around, unease painted on their faces.Storms like these were typical in Florida, but lightning and thunder hit differently when you’re over water.You’re more exposed.
I wondered if it was raining in the city.My Google search ofwhat is New York City likecame up with three things consistently.There was a lot of brick and concrete.There were no palm trees.And it was the most populous city in the United States, with over eight million people jammed into three hundred miles.I couldn’t fathom that.Where did everyone sleep?
